Chapter 179: Taste the Bitter Fruit Again

I, honored as a direct disciple, am still using a post‑natal forged vajra staff.

"Underworld, do not deceive people excessively!" Dizang's body radiated a void‑extinguishing Buddha light, a ninth‑rank golden lotus phantom flickered at his feet, "Even the Chaos Treasure beyond the thirty‑three heavens is but a handful. You set this condition—do you intend to use it to completely cut off our sect's fortune?"

Yánluó King sneered, slapping the table; the Book of Life and Death moved on its own without wind: "Since the Western Sect dares to run amok in the realm of reincarnation, it should have foreseen this predicament. The ten halls of the Underworld have prepared a Ten‑Thousand Ghost Soul‑Devouring Formation; the Bodhisattva may as well weigh the pros and cons."

In the Great Hall of the Underworld, a deep laugh resonated; Yánluó King clapped his hands and glanced sideways at the crowd below: "The Western Sect is so shabby, it truly opens my eyes. The Underworld has sincerely prepared twelve Preheavenly Spiritual Treasures to resolve cause and effect, yet you still raise three objections and four more?"

The bronze ghost mask flickered under the Netherfire, "Do you expect me to summon the Twelve Ancestral Witches, go personally to Mount Sumeru to question the two Saints, Jieyin and Zhunti, for clarification?"

Dizang's fingers clenched his prayer beads, producing a clacking sound; a sidelong glance swept his fellow disciples, the golden cicada already concealed any glee at disaster, a fine sweat beaded at his temple.

The other disciples wore a pallid hue. He knew that if the Wu Clan's great power truly advanced westward, not only his own seat as chief would be jeopardized, the entire Western Sect would become a laughingstock of the three realms.

"Lord Yán, when did you master this tongue‑blazing lotus technique?" Dizang forced his doubt aside and spoke.

In his memory, the Wu Clan had always been straightforward, yet this person before him could strike at the core with every word, as if he could see the deepest fear in everyone's hearts.

After a few moments at the jade table, Yu Qiang, the ancestral witch, twirled nine‑abyssal cold air around his fingertips, looking aside with amusement: "Such a blunt knife cutting flesh is truly more exhilarating than a direct kill."

She glanced at the flustered Western Sect members reflected in the distant water mirror, "Why not seize the moment and strike the Sacred Mountain?"

Zhou Yi toyed with a copy of the Book of Life and Death and chuckled: "The Saint's visage cannot be trampled lightly. If the two Saints truly intervene, even the mighty Twelve Celestial Demon Formation, though powerful, will ultimately be no match for the Heavenly Dao's saintly might."

The shadow he traced with his fingertip said, "Now this gentle simmering of a frog both aches the Western Sect to the bone yet does not overturn the board; that is the optimal strategy."

In the water mirror, Dizang suddenly staggered half a step; behind him, the phantom of the Eight‑Treasure Merit Pool flickered.

Yánluó King timely slapped the Soul‑Stabilizing Seal onto the table, shaking the entire Forest‑Array Hall as a cold wind howled: "Three days are the limit; if the Spiritual Treasure is not seen, the ten Yánluó of the ten halls will personally open the Ghost Gate, drawing a hundred thousand Nether soldiers to pave the way westward!"

The faces of the two Saints of the Western Sect are as weighty as the foundation stones of the Sacred Mountain; even if they lose a bit of face publicly, it would be no more than a puff of robe dust.

The layout of the Six Realms of Reincarnation will not stall because of this; instead it will spawn even more subtle scheming.

Yu Qiang, the ancestral witch, crossed his arms and mused: "If we only flaunt might without gaining profit, this deal is truly not worth it."

Better to use the chance to hammer these bald cultivators, sowing suspicion of hidden ghosts, so that from now on they will detour whenever they see the realm of reincarnation.

"Brother Yu Qiang, scheming hearts…" Zhou Yi's words were cut off when the Great Witch scratched his tower‑like arm and grinned foolishly: "Little brother, just make the decision!"

A rough palm pounded his shoulder, displaying twelvefold trust.

Dizang, at this moment, was worrying over his prayer beads, his lotus crown tilted a few degrees: "Members of the Wu Clan, our sect's Sacred Mountain is too bitterly cold to produce Preheavenly Spiritual Treasures. These five Bodhi relics are personally transmitted by the Saint, capable of opening the root of wisdom to comprehend the Great Dao…"

Before the words finished, the bronze masks of the ten Yánluó clanged, and the fire sparks erupted from the axe in Xingtian's hand.

"Bald donkey, you deceive too much!" Yánluó King's voice was like a nine‑abyssal cold spring: "Do you think the Wu Clan is merely a decorative incense burner? What use is this broken stone!" The Twelve Ancestral Witches' totems materialized in the void, blood‑demon aura solidified, pressing the eight hundred arhats into dimness.

Dizang suddenly snapped awake; these barbarian saints in mortal flesh lacked even a primordial spirit.

The relics, to them, were indeed less tangible than the stone lion before the Hall of Lady Hou Tu.

Just as they were about to remedy, they saw Gong Gong already stirring the weak waters into a raging torrent, and Ju Mang stepping on a blue dragon, breaking through the air.

At this moment even the Western Sect disciples' gazes toward Dizang were cold; fine beads of sweat seeped from his brow. His fingers beneath the Buddha robe trembled slightly, and he forced himself to speak:

"Everyone, hold on. Though this Buddha bone relic is of no use to the Wu Clan, it is a rare supreme treasure across the three realms, sufficient to trade for any wondrous artifact. I am willing to additionally compensate with five Preheavenly Spiritual Treasures as restitution; shall we settle it here?"

Yánluó King, hearing this, looked up and roared with a bell‑like laugh that sent the Underworld's cold winds swirling: "Do you think we are beggars asking for food? If you wish to retreat unscathed, immediately relinquish all your treasures and spiritual implements."

Before the words finished, the Western Sect disciples were already turning a steel‑blue with anger, many pressing their hands to their artifacts as blue veins bulged.

Dizang's entire body radiated crimson Buddha light, and behind him eight phantom celestial dragons appeared: "Such a humiliating pact, I must refuse!"

"Exactly as I wish!" Yánluó King clapped his palms together, producing a thunderous sound, and deep within the Underworld hundreds of Nether ghost flames instantly ignited.

The ten Yánluó manifested their true forms, each with muscles bulging three zhang tall, bronze‑hued skin bearing ancient Wu clan sigils.

Moreover, the Ox‑Head and Horse‑Face generals led the Nether soldiers into a battle formation, encircling the Western Sect members.

Just as Dizang's staff gathered Buddha light, the Wheel King had already flung a soul‑hook rope, binding his ankle.

Qin Guang King seized the moment to hurl the Soul‑Stabilizing Seal, shattering Dizang's protective Buddha wheel.

The remaining sect members appeared even more hapless, being divided and suppressed by Wu Clan warriors using a human‑sea tactic; their treasures were seized before they could be invoked.

Yu Qiang, the ancestral witch, leaned against a massive stone by the River Forgetting, twirling the newly seized demon‑subduing staff between his fingers, laughing at the sky‑filled flutter of robe fragments.

Whenever Buddha light suddenly appeared, he snapped his finger, firing a blast of Yu Qiang's cold aura to freeze it.

After roughly half a incense stick's burn time, the Western Sect members were either prostrate or kneeling, utterly unable to fight back. Wu Clan warriors deftly scavenged the spoils, even carefully removing the golden threads from the monks' shoes.

Dizang was stripped down to only his close‑fitting robe; the swastika Buddha seal on his chest was left as an imprint by the Book of Life and Death.

As the Ghost Gate thundered open, dozens of golden rays clumsily fell from the Netherworld, and toward Mount Sumeru a deafening Buddha chant erupted.

Zhou Yi stood before the Sin Mirror platform, chuckling lightly, the mirror reflecting Dizang's lost, despondent visage.

He deliberately had the Nether soldiers retain a transmitted jade tablet; by now the Western Pure Land likely already possesses the complete record of this "enlightenment."

After this battle, the notorious names of the eight hundred Nether generals of the Underworld will spread across the thirty‑three heavens.

The Western Sect members gazed at the reincarnation vortex deep within the Netherworld, and at this moment felt a fleeting sense of post‑calamity reverie.

Those disciples once plundered by the Wu Clan now felt the empty waist pouches, yet twisted into a bitter grin; after all, they were already penniless, and this episode was merely another taste of bitter fruit.

"If this grudge remains unsated, how can we claim to be disciples of the Saint!" someone snarled at the reincarnation platform, their eyes tinged blue‑purple from mana overuse.

Looking around, not a single one of the hundreds of sect members could preserve any dignity; their robes had been stripped bare, and the coarse hemp garments now covering them were merely illusory remnants of spiritual energy.